


The Twelve Days of Shirtlessness

by SerotoninShift



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Getting Together, Illustrations, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Merry Promarey, idiots to lovers, real silly hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerotoninShift/pseuds/SerotoninShift
Summary: Lio has been shipped off by his best friends Meis and Gueira for a holiday vacation to take his mind off his recent messy divorce. He’s not happy about it; he hates winter, he hates Christmas, he hates Ludinton, Michigan. And he can’t seem to escape a certain shirtless himbo...~featuring art by Beth Adastra!~
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos, Past Lio Fotia/Kray Foresight
Comments: 94
Kudos: 108
Collections: Promare Holiday Potluck 2020





	1. Dec. 1 - A Himbo in an Ice Lake

**Author's Note:**

> Incredible art by [Beth Adastra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethAdastra/pseuds/BethAdastra), aka [@AdastraBeth](https://mobile.twitter.com/AdastraBeth) on Twitter!
> 
> Thanks to [Succubitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Succubitch/) for beta-reading and helping me brainstorm ways for Galo to lose his shirt!

Ludinton, Michigan, was nothing like Detroit. It was picturesque, a tourist town, surrounded by frozen lakes and frosted with pure white snow like icing on a gingerbread house. Christmas decorations were out in full force already on the first of December; cheerful banners featuring Santa hung from the lamps lining the town’s central avenue, and twinkling lights adorned every tree, giving the street an ethereal ambiance even at midday. The avenue led to the town square, where a huge evergreen tree festooned in gaudy ornaments and yet more lights dominated the scene. This was clearly a town that went all out to dress up in its holiday best.

Lio hated the place on sight.

Winter was never Lio’s best time of year, and this was his first December after his messy divorce from Kray Foresight. His best friends, Meis and Gueira, had, entirely against his wishes, gotten him an Airbnb for an early Christmas present and shipped him off for two weeks.

“‘Have a change of scenery,’ they said,” Lio groused to himself. “‘It’ll be good for you,’ they said.” He pulled his suitcase forcefully from the trunk of the car and let it slam to the ground. It crunched in the snow. “We’ll see about that,” Lio muttered darkly. He was not interested in being soothed by idyllic pablum.

He let himself into the Airbnb without incident, and unpacked his suitcase, arranging things in the closet the way he liked them. He’d packed quite an assortment of clothes; if he was getting shipped off, by god he was going to be fashionable _and_ comfortable. He decided he might as well walk around a bit and get the lay of the land, so he chose an appropriate outfit to change into; black trousers, black Chanel boots, a white shirt and cravat accentuated with a black vest, and a wool-lined black duster that fell to his knees. He also put on black gloves, a black scarf, and a black wool beret against the cold.

The outfit made a statement; it said he was _not_ here to be infected with the holiday spirit. Thus girded, he made his way out into the streets of Ludinton.

***

Lio wandered aimlessly for a bit, purposefully brooding in spite of the cheery decorations around him. He eventually ended up on a terrace overlooking an offensively scenic frozen lake. Just below the terrace, out on the ice, a noisy crowd was gathered. Lio squinted at them, curious despite himself. There was a banner set up, just visible above the heads of the crowd. “Ludinton Polar Plunge,” the banner read in large crisp letters, and in smaller typeface beneath them, “A benefit for the Ludinton Children’s Home.”

Lio had to admit, he was a sucker for altruism. He made his way down the stairs from the terrace to the snow-covered shore and walked out onto the ice. He found a gap in the crowd and squeezed through, hearing whoops and splashing noises from ahead. When he reached the front of the throng, he found himself at the edge of a very large rectangular hole cut in the ice. Several people, apparently having just jumped into the water, were scrambling to get back out, making expeditious use of a ladder fastened to the ice. On the edge of the hole, a tiny woman with wild hair piled into two buns was cackling into a megaphone.

“And Remi makes it out!” she narrated loudly for the crowd as a wiry man with teal hair heaved himself out of the water. A blond woman quickly wrapped him in a bathrobe and Remi gave her a grateful peck on the cheek. “Who’s next?” the woman with the megaphone yelled. “We got the whole Burning Rescue crew! The lovely Aina Ardebit! The babe with the biceps!” A woman with pink hair flexed theatrically for the crowd as she climbed the ladder. She did indeed have impressive biceps. “Ignis Ex! Team captain and team dad!” A muscular man with a mustache and, inexplicably, sunglasses, nodded his head as he stood stoically, arms crossed, waiting for his turn on the ladder. “Varys Truss! Our gentle giant and bench press champion!” An enormous dark-skinned man with a goatee waved to the crowd from the back of the ladder line. “And our newest recruit, Galo Thymos!”

There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the water.

“Where is Galo, anyway?” the woman said quizzically. “Is he holding his breath for a ridiculous amount of time again, or is he dead?”

There was a pregnant pause.

Then a man broke the surface of the lake in the exact center of the pool. Unlike everyone else, he appeared in no hurry to get out. He seemed to rise in slow motion, water sluicing from his blue hair where it hung half-covering his chiseled features, rivulets running down his broad shoulders, over his ample pectorals and—good god— _rock-hard nipples_ to a washboard of absolutely mouthwatering abs. He finally stood up to his full height, waist deep in the water, and _glistened_. The crowd started cheering. The man pumped his fist triumphantly, grinning with startlingly white teeth. His arm was whorled with scars from wrist to shoulder, but it didn’t seem to slow him down any. His blue eyes flashed in the winter sun. Lio’s mouth dropped open.

“It looks like Galo is going to take the record for ice-water resistance!” the woman yelled into the megaphone. “Everyone who jumps in makes more moolah for the kiddos! There’s no extra for stayin’ in longer, but Galo doesn’t care! He’s impervious to the elements, resistant to the rime, unmoved by the arctic! Look at this guy!”

Lio was _looking_ , alright. 

“Tell them it’s my burning soul!” the man—Galo—yelled, in a voice almost as loud as the megaphone.

“It’s his burning soul!” the woman yelled immediately. “This rookie firefighter will set your heart ablaze! Who wants to take a dip with this absolute madman? Do it for the kids!”

A few more people in bathrobes and swim trunks, apparently prepared to go for it, gathered laughing at the edge of the pool. Galo turned, displaying his sculpted back muscles to Lio, and waved at the group. Then he nonchalantly leaned forward and ducked his head below the surface. He tossed his head back, and his hair made a perfect parabola, flinging off a glittering stream of ice-cold lake water. Lio stood there, frozen and slack-jawed, as the water arced through the air.

It hit him directly in the face.

“PFFWAUGH!” Lio yelled inelegantly, the shock snapping him out of his lustful stupor.

“Galo!” the woman shrieked accusingly. “Innocent bystanders!”

“Oh shit, sorry!” Galo turned, looking wide-eyed at Lio, who was scrubbing his face with his jacket sleeve. “Did that seriously hit you? I’m so sorry! Let me grab you a towel!” He vaulted himself out of the water, bypassing the ladder and simply throwing himself out of the pool onto the ice like a sexy seal. Then he jumped up and ran over to the woman with the megaphone, who had grabbed a towel from a nearby stack and was holding it out to him. He was next to Lio in a few long, barefoot strides.

“Here,” he said, handing over the towel, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to splash you.”

Lio dabbed at his face with the towel.

“No big deal,” he said, somewhat weakly. Now that Galo was fully out of the water, Lio could see that he was wearing a tiny speedo. Lio noted, before quickly and guiltily looking away, that his... accoutrements... didn’t seem very affected by the frigid temperatures; he filled out the speedo quite nicely. 

Galo, looking distressed, watched Lio pat himself down with the towel. “Let me make it up to you,” Galo said. “I’m on call in an hour, but meet me at 10 AM tomorrow at The Magic Moose and I’ll buy you whatever kind of coffee you want.”

“The Magic Moose,” Lio repeated dumbly.

“Yeah, it’s on the corner of 8th and Madison, you can’t miss it. Is that too early? Too late? I’m flexible.”

Lio tried not to think about Galo being _flexible._

“Ten is fine,” he said. “You really don’t have to do that, though, it’s not a big deal.”

“I want to!” Galo said, sounding determined. “You’re visiting for the holidays, right? I haven’t seen you around. I don’t want you to think we welcome everyone to Ludinton with cold water to the face! Let me show you some _real_ hospitality.”

“Okay, if you insist,” Lio acquiesced. “I appreciate it.”

Galo grinned at him.

“Great!” he said with entirely too much enthusiasm. “They have awesome holiday specials, you’re gonna love it.”

Lio wanted to snark, he really did. He surely had a ready, biting comment about how “holiday specials” were a sugary, capitalist scam. 

“Okay,” his mouth said. “Sounds nice.”

Oh god. His brain had clearly been reduced to plum pudding by the man’s ridiculous physique. He had to extricate himself from this situation immediately before he betrayed himself any further.

“I better… get going,” he said faintly. “Good luck with the fundraiser.”

“See you tomorrow!” Galo said, still grinning.

“Okay,” Lio said.

“Great!” Galo said.

“Yes,” Lio said.

“Awesome!” Galo said.

Lio couldn’t think of anything else to do, so he turned around abruptly and started walking away.

“Hey, Lucia,” he heard Galo say behind him, “if I jump back in, do I raise double the money?”

“No, Galo,” said the voice of the woman with the megaphone.

“Imma do it anyway,” Galo said. Lio heard a whoop and a loud splash as he shouldered his way back through the crowd. Lio started walking a little faster, and didn’t slow down until he was safely back inside his Airbnb.

He looked up the Ludinton Children’s Home online and made a hundred-dollar donation.


	2. Dec. 2 - Two Cups of Coffee

Lio arrived at The Magic Moose at 10 AM on the dot. Galo had been right; it was impossible to miss. There was a large sign featuring a cartoon moose hanging over the sidewalk above the door. The sign had been decorated for the holidays with lights and a large Rudolphian red nose. Lio peered in the window. The interior looked clean and cozy, with inviting couches in one corner and charming little café tables throughout the rest of the space. It wasn’t half-bad, for a place called The Magic Moose.

“Hey!”

Lio turned from the window to see Galo trotting across the street, grinning broadly. He was wearing a bulky jacket over slim jeans and practical Timberland boots.

“You made it!” Galo said, bouncing to a halt next to Lio. “I realized yesterday I never got your name.”

“It’s Lio. Lio Fotia,” Lio said, and held out a hand. Galo’s large gloved hand immediately enveloped his and shook it enthusiastically.

“Galo Thymos,” Galo said. “Nice to meet you, Lio Fotia! Sorry again I hit you in the face with lake water.”

“Don’t worry,” Lio said, letting himself smile a little. “You can make it up to me with a mocha cappuccino.”

***

They put in their orders—a mocha cappuccino and an eggnog latte—and chose one of the empty café tables. Lio unwrapped his black scarf and settled into one of the chairs. Galo shrugged his jacket off and hung it over the back of the chair opposite. Lio was dismayed to discover that under his jacket, Galo was wearing nothing but a skin-tight white t-shirt that left very little to the imagination. His scarred arm was covered with a compression sleeve; the injury must be fairly recent. His biceps flexed as he pulled the chair out and sat down. Lio could feel his brain rapidly turning to pudding again. He pulled his eyes quickly away, glancing at the waitress coming toward their table, and saw that she, too, had noticed Galo’s t-shirt and was openly ogling him. Lio couldn’t help the scowl that flashed over his face. The waitress seemed to sense it and her eyes flicked to Lio. She must have seen something terrifying in Lio’s expression, because she paled. Flustered, she tripped over something invisible on the floor.

Lio saw what happened next in slow motion. The two paper cups on her tray launched themselves into the air. One of them tumbled to the floor, splashing its contents against the legs of the table and Lio’s shoes. Lio didn’t have any time to mourn his mocha cappuccino or his Louis Vuttions before the other drink hit Galo squarely in the chest, the lid popping off and coffee drenching Galo’s t-shirt.

“YOW!” Galo yelped, jumping to his feet as the now-empty cup fell to the floor, “HOT!”

“Oh my god!” the waitress stuttered, “I’m so sorr-”

She was interrupted by Galo ripping his shirt off over his head.

Lio, the waitress, and the entire rest of the café’s patrons were struck dumb by the spectacle of Galo, standing in the middle of the room shirtless and disheveled, his soaked t-shirt dangling from his hand.

“Sorry!” Galo sputtered. “I know it’s ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service,’ but it was really hot!”

The waitress managed to regain her composure enough to say, “Sir, I’m so sorry. Please, you can use the bathroom to clean up. Let me make you both new drinks and your whole order will be on the house. And I’ll write you up some gift certificates. To make up for your shirt.” 

“Oh, that’s no big deal,” Galo said. “I buy them in bulk from CostCo.”

“Still,” the waitress said, furrowing her brow. She gestured vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll clean this up,” she said, eyeing the spilled drinks on the floor. “Why don’t you gentlemen move to another table and I’ll bring you out fresh drinks right away.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Lio said, standing up.

“It’s the _least_ I can do,” the waitress said without meeting his eyes. She looked very embarrassed.

“Really, it’s okay,” Galo said, scooping his jacket off the back of the chair. “Accidents happen! I’ll go clean up. Lio, pick us out a new spot, yeah? I’ll be right back.” He strode to the bathroom.

Lio chose a corner table under the lights festooning the window and let the shame-faced waitress settle him in.

“I’m really terribly sorry,” she said again.

“Don’t worry,” Lio said understandingly. “Could have happened to anyone. Considering the circumstances.”

The waitress finally met his eyes. She smiled a little, wryly. “I’ll be right out with your drinks. On the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Lio said.

She turned to leave. Then she turned back for a moment.

“Sir,” she said, “I hope you very much enjoy your holidays here in Ludinton.” Then she whisked herself off behind the counter to get the mop.

Lio wasn’t _entirely_ sure whether or not she’d winked at him.

***

Galo, bare-chested under his jacket, seemed unphased by the entire incident once he returned to find two fresh drinks and a gift certificate waiting with Lio at the table. They made slightly awkward small talk over their coffees. Lio learned about Burning Rescue, the town’s fire department, and told Galo a bit about Meis and Gueira and their insistence on Lio taking a break from the big city. He left out the part about the messy divorce.

“So what does one do for fun in Ludinton?” Lio asked after a brief lull in the conversation.

“Oh, all kinds of stuff. Cross-country skiing. Ice skating on the lake. Hockey. We even have a curling team!”

Winter sports were not Lio’s forte. Galo must have seen something to that effect in his face, because he quickly said, “But you seem like more of a… a _sophisticated_ person! I bet you’re more into, um, the fine arts.”

“I do appreciate a good Botticelli,” Lio said.

“Isn’t that a pastry?” Galo said, slightly puzzled. “Yeah, those are good. I guess you could say they’re an art form.”

“No, it’s… you know what, never mind.”

“The only thing we have in town that’s artsy at all is the craft museum,” Galo continued regretfully. “They have an exhibit of Shaker quilts up right now. I doubt that’s really your scene.”

Lio took a sip of his drink to hide his smile.

“I’m more of a duvet man, myself,” he said.

Galo laughed, and Lio was surprised to feel a little twinge of satisfaction. For a long moment, they sipped their drinks. Lio’s was down to the last swallow; he finished it off and set the empty cup on the table. Galo set his cup, apparently also empty, down beside it.

“Hey,” Galo said, breaking the silence, “if you like artsy stuff, you should come to the open mic night tomorrow.”

“I should come to the _what_ now,” Lio said with trepidation.

“The open mic night!” Galo enthused, warming to his own idea. “Remi organizes it, he does one every week. He’s great, he’s really inspired me to start writing. Get in touch with my emotions. You know. With poetry.”

“A poetry open mic night.”

“It’s in the basement here at The Moose! They let us stay late.”

“Oh, wow,” Lio said hopelessly.

“I know, it’s really nice of the manager,” Galo said.

“Yes, very accommodating of them,” Lio said.

“So I’ll meet you back here at nine tomorrow night?” Galo said cheerfully.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Lio said despairingly.

“Great!” Galo said. “Sounds like a plan! I should head out for now. I need a new shirt.”

“Thanks again for the coffee,” Lio said.

“No worries,” Galo said, standing up. “Least I could do.” 

***

While Galo wasn’t looking, Lio left a hundred-dollar tip.


	3. Dec. 3 - Three Free Verse

The basement of The Moose was a low-ceilinged, baroque-wallpapered den of iniquity furnished with heavy leather couches, metal folding chairs, and dim sconces. There was a poorly-lit, barely-there stage on one end of the room, and Remi was chewing up what little scenery there was, clearly putting on a show of being MC to impress the blond woman who’d been with him at the lake, who was sitting in the front row making doe-eyes at him. She didn’t seem to need impressing, but that wasn’t stopping Remi.

Lio had snagged a spot with a table in the back for himself and Galo, and was glad that the dim light of the basement obscured the contortions his face was surely undergoing as he suffered through, first, Remi’s abominable love poetry recited directly to the blond; then, some sort of free verse epic with theremin accompaniment courtesy of Lucia, the megaphone woman; then, some passable singer-songwriter hopefuls; and then, to Lio’s great dismay, a few more Remi love poems. Lio was gleefully imagining Remi’s trial in the Hague for crimes against humanity when Remi finally finished up his last line to a chorus of appreciative snaps. 

“Thank you, you’re too kind,” Remi said into the mic. “I owe it all, of course, to my muse Danielle.” The blond woman practically swooned. Lio barely stopped his eyes from rolling out of his head. Then Remi looked at the audience meditatively, and said, “I want to invite someone back to the stage.” His eyes roved through the crowd, and for a horrible moment, they seemed to fix on Lio.

“Galo,” Remi said, and Lio couldn’t decide if this outcome was better or worse.

“Yeah,” Galo said from Lio’s side.

“Get your burning soul up here, rookie,” Remi said. People in the audience started snapping.

“Oh!” Galo said. “You really want me to… uh… read something? I thought I was banned.”

“You just have to keep it down a little,” Remi said. “Don’t put your mouth right on the mic. The feedback really got us in trouble that one time, with the noise ordinance.”

“Yeah,” Galo said. “Well, okay! If you insist, I guess I could.” He stood up and made his way through the room, dodging the bulky couches and folding chairs. When he got to the stage, Remi made way for him, sitting down next to Danielle. Galo fiddled with the mic, then pulled a little notebook out of his back pocket and thumbed through it. He found the spot he was looking for and stopped. Then he looked at Remi quizzically.

“I just wrote this today, I don’t know if it’s any good,” he said.

“Don’t be modest,” Remi said, gesturing impatiently. “You have a lot of raw talent. I want to see you truly reveal yourself.”

“Okay,” Galo said obligingly. He marked his spot in the notebook with a finger. Then he reached for the hem of his shirt. Lio realized, with a sinking feeling, what was about to happen just an instant before Galo peeled his shirt off over his head in one fluid motion. “Like this?” Galo said, shirt and notebook in hand, pectoral muscles outlined by the dim stage lights. He looked a little confused.

A few people in the crowd started snapping their fingers. Lio resisted the urge to slam his head into the table and knock himself out.

“Uh. Sure. I guess that’s one, very _literal_ interpretation of what I said.” Remi sounded nonplussed. Galo gave him a thumbs up, dropping his shirt onto the stage. He opened his notebook again.

“Okay,” Galo said. “This is kind of personal. But here goes.”

Oh god.

Galo cleared his throat. “This is called ‘A Cool Flame,’” he said. Then he cleared his throat again. There was a long pause.

“A cool flame!” Galo bellowed into the mic at top volume. Lio nearly fell out of his chair in startlement. “Lighting up the night sky of my heart like the aurora borealis!” Galo continued, with no decrease in volume.

“Galo!” Remi hissed. “Inside voice!”

“Oh, sorry,” Galo stage-whispered. “I’m nervous.” Then he cleared his throat again and kept reading at a much less ear-bursting level.

“Pale violet and flickering green! The most unearthly thing I’ve ever seen!”

Oh god, was he rhyming on purpose? Lio couldn’t actually tell.

“Your light is brighter than the dawn. Am I awake or is this a dream?”

Possibly he was using slant rhyme. Lio felt an odd mix of emotions. Partly, he wanted to die. But also? He was charmed by the utter, gormless sincerity in Galo’s voice. The poem clearly meant something to him, even if Lio couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“You look down from the sky, proud, head high. A cold, blazing winter star, pointing toward true north. I didn’t know I was lost, but now my destination is found. If your hands touched earth, would they leave ghosts of themselves on the frosted ground?” 

There was a silence.

“Thank you,” Galo said. The audience started snapping.

It was a surprisingly poignant last line. Remi hopped up next to Galo on the stage and clapped him on the back.

“Thank you, Galo!” he said. “Your sense of meter is really improving! Keep on writing!” Galo, looking a little deflated, picked up his shirt and pulled it back on.

“Thanks, Remi,” Galo said, and stepped off the stage.

“Okay!” Remi said, consulting his notepad, “up next we have…”

Lio tuned him out as Galo shuffled quietly back to their table and scooted back into his seat. The rest of the night’s performances were at least as cringe-inducing as Galo’s. But none of them were as memorable.

***

Lio and Galo stood outside The Moose among the dispersing crowd after open mic night was over. Lio took a deep, bracing breath of the cold night air, trying to recover himself after nearly two hours of amateur poetry. Galo eventually broke the silence.

“Did you like the poem?” Galo asked. There was an uncharacteristically shy note in his voice.

“Oh. I…” Lio started nervously.

“No, wait, I shouldn’t ask that,” Galo said, interrupting him. “You don’t have to say. I know I’m not that great of a poet. I just started.”

“I mean. It was a little rough around the edges. But I liked it,” Lio heard himself say.

“Really?” Galo said, surprised.

“It was… heartfelt,” Lio said. And he meant it.

“Oh,” Galo said. “Cool. Yeah.” He shuffled his feet. Lio stood there, at a loss. He never knew what to say during awkward moments.

“So…” Galo said finally, “I’m working tomorrow, but the day after I was gonna do my Meals on Wheels rounds, you wanna come?”

“Meals on Wheels,” Lio repeated.

“Yeah, taking hot dinners to seniors,” Galo explained patiently.

“I know what it is, Galo.” This man was going to be the death of him. “You do a lot of stuff for charity, don’t you,” Lio said, resigned. 

“I like to give back to my community,” Galo said. 

It was as if he knew Lio’s exact weaknesses.

“Sure,” Lio heard himself say. “I’ll come along.”

“Great!” Galo said. “The folks on my route are really nice. They’d love to see a new face. Some of them don’t get out much.”

“I’d be happy to visit with them,” Lio said.

“We’ll probably get served a lot of tea and cookies,” Galo said. “Just to warn you.”

“Sounds great,” Lio said.

There was another long, awkward silence.

“Okay, I’ll meet you in front of The Moose at five, see you later bye,” Galo said rapidly, and then turned and strode off into the snow, waving at Lio over his shoulder.

“Later,” Lio said faintly, waving back even though Galo wasn’t looking at him.

Lio took the long way back to the Airbnb, stopping by The Wine Cave on 12th and Emerald, which was fortunately still open. Lio’s nerves felt unaccountably jangled. He treated himself to a bottle of second-tier brandy and dozed off in his large, empty Airbnb bed listening to Wagner on his headphones.


	4. Dec. 4 - Four Rescue Kittens

Lio had been pleasantly surprised to discover, going through guidebooks in the Airbnb, that Ludinton was home to some striking examples of late-1800’s Queen Anne-style architecture. Today, just the faintest bit hung-over, he intended to take himself on an uneventful self-guided tour of said architecture. It might settle his nerves after last night. He mapped out a route and got started at the comfortable hour of 10:30 after a light breakfast of granola and soy milk. He walked down to the lake, past the fateful terrace where he’d come across the Ludinton Polar Plunge, and into the neighborhood beyond.

An hour later, he’d begun to get his fill of dormers and sash windows when he reached a stately building that, according to the guidebook, used to house the mayor but now hosted the town archives. Lio was idly wondering what sort of scandalous secrets the archives might reveal when he noticed a figure make a turn around the corner of the house, walking toward the front gate.

The figure was somewhat incongruous, as it was a man with no shirt on in the middle of winter.

It was, of course, Galo.

“Oh!” Galo said, seeing Lio standing, stunned, by the gate. “Lio! Hey!”

“Galo?” Lio said, taken aback.

“The one and only!” Galo said. The compression sleeve on his arm was fastened across his chest by a strap that Lio found irritatingly attractive. Galo’s breath fogged the cold air, but he seemed unperturbed by both the temperature and his half-clothed state.

“What are you doing here?” Lio said.

“Fire inspections!” Galo said cheerfully. “Gotta make sure these old buildings are up to code.”

“Why are you not wearing a shirt?” Lio asked accusingly. “It’s twenty degrees.”

“My burning firefighter soul keeps me warm!” Galo boasted. “Besides, I found a box of abandoned kittens on my way over, they needed a warm flannel more than me.”

 _“Kittens,”_ Lio said flatly. “You’re shirtless because you saved some kittens.”

“They’re in the cab of the truck out back!” Galo said enthusiastically. “Wanna see?”

“What kind of question is that?” Lio scoffed.

Galo furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Fuck yes I want to see some kittens. What kind of sociopath would say no to seeing some kittens?”

Galo grinned at him.

“C’mon, then!” he said, opening the gate for Lio and ushering him through.

***

The kittens were absolutely adorable.

“How could someone abandon these poor things?” Lio said, letting one of them gnaw on his finger.

“I don’t get it either,” Galo said. “But at least they left them in a place where they were easy to find. I’m glad I spotted them before they got too cold.”

“I’m glad you did, too,” Lio said, scratching the tiny kitten behind its ears. “I think I’d like to get a cat one day. My ex-husband didn’t like them.”

“Ah,” Galo said sympathetically. “That’s too bad. I love cats. I’d keep one of these guys, but my place doesn’t allow pets. I gotta take them to the shelter. But don’t worry, it’s no-kill.” Then Galo’s eyes lit up. “Hey!” he said excitedly, “you wanna come with? We can pet _all_ the cats.”

Lio scoffed again.

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t want to pet all the cats,” he said haughtily.

“A sociopath?” Galo hazarded.

“Yes,” Lio said.

***

The Ludinton Animal Shelter was modest but well-organized. Lio was impressed by how quickly they got the kittens processed and set up with a heating pad and a feeding schedule. The kittens were in good hands. Galo got his flannel shirt back, only slightly worse for wear. They spent a significant amount of time whisking feathery toys around the cat room, much to the delight of all the inhabitants. But after about an hour of cat-petting, Galo looked regretfully at his phone.

“Technically, I’m on the clock,” he said to Lio. “Fire inspections aren’t super high priority, but I should get back to it. Want me to give you a ride back to town?”

“Yes, thank you. This was nice,” Lio said.

“Cat time is always nice,” Galo said happily.

***

Lio paused at the exit of the shelter as Galo held the door open for him.

“Hang on,” Lio said. “I forgot something. I’ll meet you outside.”

While Galo waited for him at the truck, Lio wrote a hundred-dollar check to the Ludinton Animal Shelter.


	5. Dec. 5 - Five Meals on Wheels

Lio hadn’t forgotten about the Meals on Wheels invitation; he was waiting for Galo in front of The Moose precisely at five when Galo rolled up. This time Galo wasn’t in the Burning Rescue truck; he was in a slightly more modest pick-up with an extended cab. The back seat was full of carefully bagged pre-packaged meals. Lio pulled himself up into the passenger seat. He was pleased to note that on this occasion, Galo was wearing a more weather-appropriate outfit; a burgundy turtleneck and jeans. Lio wasn’t a fan of turtlenecks generally, but he found he didn’t mind it on Galo.

“Hello,” Lio said, settling in and fastening his seatbelt. Galo grinned at him. 

“Hey,” he said. “Thanks for coming with me! These rounds are fun, but it’ll be even more fun with company.”

“Happy to do it,” Lio said. “I support people giving back to their communities.”

“I try,” Galo said, and pulled out onto Madison Street.

***

True to Galo’s word, they spent quite a bit of time at each stop just socializing. And they indeed got offered a lot of tea and cookies, and always accepted. By the end, Lio had to pee rather badly. The last stop on their route was the home of a woman named Mrs. Peabody.

“She’s pretty with-it for 87 years old,” Galo said as he parked in the driveway outside her house. “She’s a little forgetful, though. I’m glad I stop by at least once a week. I worry about her.”

“You’re very kind,” Lio said, squirming a little in his seat. Galo retrieved the last meal from the back seat and they walked up the front steps to the door. Galo rang the bell.

Almost immediately, the door was flung open to reveal a tiny woman with thick round glasses and long grey hair in a neat bun, wearing an elegant high-necked dress and pearl earrings.

“Hello, dear!” she said ebulliently to Galo, “I’ve been expecting you!” She spotted Lio. “Oh!” she said, delighted. “Who’s your friend?” 

“This is Lio Fotia,” Galo said. “He’s visiting town for the holidays. I’m showing him around.”

“How wonderful!” Mrs. Peabody enthused. “We do love visitors here in Ludinton. Come in, come in!” She ushered them into the hall. Then, to Lio’s surprise, she grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him down a little.

“Let me look at you, dear,” she said cheerfully. She examined him, peering at him owlishly through her glasses. Her examination was a little more critical that Lio was entirely comfortable with. Finally she nodded, seeming satisfied.

“He looks a bit like Elijah Wood,” she said to Galo approvingly. “But with more interesting hair.”

“Mrs. Peabody,” Lio said uncomfortably, “may I please use your bathroom?”

“And so polite!” Mrs. Peabody said. “Of course, dear, it’s just down the hall.” She gestured, and Lio took a few quick steps to the indicated door, gratefully closing it behind him.

He took care of business and then took a moment to breathe. He was an introvert by nature; he generally liked people, but the last few hours had taken a bit of a toll. He needed a moment. He glanced around the small bathroom. It was modest but nice; Mrs. Peabody had a flair for decorating in a baroque style that managed not to be oppressive.

There was a built-in shelf across from the toilet. Lio didn’t mean to be nosy, but he noticed that on the bottom shelf, instead of the bathroom necessities in matching baskets that filled the rest, there was a row of books. Lio glanced at the titles.

_Prisoner of Love._

_A Pirate’s Passion._

_Forbidden Flame._

They continued in that vein.

Well. Lio was certainly in no position to judge Mrs. Peabody’s bathroom reading.

***

By the time he got back, Galo and Mrs. Peabody were ensconced in the sitting room, deep into another round of cookies and tea. Lio joined them and they spent a while in pleasant conversation. Mrs. Peabody, to Lio’s delight, had actually worked in the town archives and was privy to all the historical scandals, and she related them to Lio with evident relish. The room was warm, the tea was aromatic and delicious, and Lio found himself feeling… happy.

The feeling surprised him, once he identified it. It had been awhile.

Mrs. Peabody finished a salacious account of the Presterbyian minister’s affair with the Unitarian minister’s wife, and there was a comfortable slience. After a moment, Mrs. Peabody turned to Galo.

“Dear, I hate to break up our conversation, but can I ask you a favor while you’re here?” she said. “Can you carry that dresser up the stairs for me?” She gestured to a short but hefty-looking baroque dresser in the corner. “I want to redecorate the guest room.” 

“You got it,” Galo said, and stood up. “Leave it to Galo Thymos! I’m the best at carrying heavy things. Didn’t you just redecorate though? I carried one a lot like that _down_ the stairs last week!”

“Dear, I’m sure I don’t remember, I might have redone things!”

“Well, no worries, I can get it up there!”

“You want a hand?” Lio asked, concerned. Galo waved him off, crossing the room to the dresser.

“No, no, enjoy your tea and cookies. I’m always happy to get an extra workout in!”

Galo squatted down. His glutes bulged in his tight jeans as he lifted the dresser in one smooth motion. He carried it effortlessly to the landing of the stairs, which rose from the sitting room to a shadowy second floor. Then he set it down on the stairs.

“Mrs. Peabody, it is _really_ hot in here,” Galo said, wiping his brow. “I’m getting sweaty.”

Mrs. Peabody seemed unconcerned by this.

“You always do overheat! I’m sorry, dear, you know I like to keep it warm in the house with these old bones and all,” she fluttered. “But feel free to make yourself comfortable however you like.”

“You don’t mind?” Galo asked, reaching for the hem of his shirt.

“Oh, certainly not, dear.”

Galo was about to take his shirt off in front of an octogenarian.

“Galo, wai…” Galo was already stripping. He pulled his turtleneck off in one smooth motion, and there was his chest _yet again_ , and his infuriating abs. Lio flushed, and quickly raised his teacup to his mouth and took a sip to hide it. But Galo wasn’t paying attention and immediately turned back to the dresser, picking it up and starting to heave it up the flight of stairs.

Lio glanced guiltily at the couch. And paused. Mrs. Peabody was sitting quite primly in her seat, dunking a cookie into her tea. And she was watching Galo work with a look that Lio would, were he feeling more charitable, describe as _appreciative._

Mrs. Peabody took a bite out of her cookie and caught him staring at her.

“More tea, dear?” she asked innocently, and _winked_ at him. 

Lio straightened his back, indignant. The absolute _gall_ of the woman!

Lio flicked a glance up at Galo. He was engrossed in navigating the dresser around a corner of the second landing. Lio found his eyes wandering along the curves of Galo’s biceps. He quickly tore his gaze away, but Mrs. Peabody was still watching him. She raised one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Lio sighed. “I’ll have some more tea.”

***

That evening, Lio wrote and mailed a two-hundred dollar check to the Ludinton chapter of Meals on Wheels.


	6. Dec. 6 - Six Washboard Abs

Lio woke up determined that he would _not_ spend the day preoccupied with Galo and his handsome physiognomy. They had no further plans to get together, and that was _fine._ Lio was only in town for two weeks, anyway. It would be ridiculous to become infatuated with a small-town firefighter with nice abs.

No, today he was going to take care of some mundane tasks; holiday card writing, restocking the Airbnb fridge, and a trip to the laundromat. The Airbnb, though equipped with a cappuccino machine, a waffle iron, and a crepe pan, didn’t have a washer/dryer. Meis and Gueira clearly had priorities.

Lio only had a small load of essentials to do, and Google Maps informed him that the laundromat was just a block and a half away, so he loaded up his laundry in his roller suitcase and walked it over to Throwing In the Towel, which was, of course, decorated for Christmas with a mural featuring snowmen and reindeer painted across the front windows. Lio pushed open the door into the warm interior of the laundromat, setting a little bell jingling.

The place was empty except for a man sitting in the corner next to a humming dryer, reading a magazine. When the door jingled, he let the magazine fall, looking up. Lio froze like a deer in headlights.

It was Galo.

He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, purple and teal sneakers, his compression sleeve, and nothing else.

“Oh hey!” Galo said cheerfully. “Weird coincidence! You gotta do laundry today too, huh?”

Lio swallowed. 

“Yes,” he said. “Hello, Galo.” He pulled his roller suitcase the rest of the way into the laundromat. The door jingled shut behind him. 

“I totally ran out of socks _and_ shirts,” Galo said.

“I thought you bought shirts in bulk,” Lio said between gritted teeth.

“Yeah, because I go through them really fast,” Galo said.

“Clearly,” Lio said, picking up his suitcase and slamming it down on top of the nearest washing machine.

“Do you need some detergent?” Galo offered. “I have a whole bottle. That way you don’t have to buy one of those little boxes from the vending machine.”

“That would be _great,”_ Lio said testily.

***

Galo hovered while Lio loaded his washing machine and poured the offered detergent into the dispenser. Galo was pulled away by a loud buzzing.

“Oop, that’s my dryer,” he said. Lio screwed the cap back on Galo’s detergent and handed it over.

“Thanks,” Lio said.

“Sure thing!” Galo replied. He paced across the laundromat and opened his dryer. Inside was an unholy mass of identical white t-shirts, interspersed with a few pairs of jeans and socks.

Galo grabbed one of the t-shirts and pulled it on over his head. It hugged the contours of his body. Lio tried not to envy the t-shirt. Galo hummed appreciatively. “I love warm clothes right out of the dryer,” he said, pulling the rest of the clothes out and piling them into his laundry basket. He turned back to Lio.

“Well, I guess I’m off,” he said. “I should give you my number, though! In case you, uh. Need any more detergent or anything.”

That didn’t seem like a very good reason. But it might be useful for Lio to have a local contact. In case of emergencies. Yes. That was definitely logical and free of ulterior motives.

“Okay,” Lio said. He pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket, unlocked it, pulled up a new entry on his contact list, and handed it to Galo. Galo typed into it for what seemed like an excessively long time. Then he handed it back to Lio.

“See you around!” Galo said, picking up his laundry. “Have a great day!” He backed out of the laundromat, laundry basket in one hand, waving at Lio with the other.

“You too,” Lio said. He couldn’t help giving a little wave back. Galo backed out onto the sidewalk, still waving. The door jingled shut behind him. Galo finally turned around and strode off down the street, disappearing around the corner of Cherry and 9th. Lio let himself collapse onto one of the hard plastic laundromat chairs.

He glanced at his phone. “Galo Thymos,” the contact field said. Under “Organization,” Galo had written, “The firefighter with the burning soul!!! :D :D :D” His number was underneath.

Lio sighed. The universe seemed determined to test him to his limits. 

He put his phone back into his jacket pocket and settled in to wait for his laundry to finish up.


	7. Dec. 7 - Seven Plates of Pasta

It was a complete accident that Lio found himself outside of Station 3. He’d gotten turned around looking for A Novel Idea, the local bookstore. He didn’t even realize where he was until he saw Varys in the driveway. Then he recognized the large 3 emblazoned on the side of the building. Varys was doing something incomprehensible to what looked like part of an engine. Lio was about to turn and sneak away when Varys looked up and saw him.

“Hey!” the large man said cheerfully. His voice was a pleasant basso rumble. “I remember you from the lake! Galo got you good. You’re his new friend, right? From Detroit? He’s been talking about you.”

There was no escape.

“Has he,” Lio said.

“Yeah, he said you were really sweet to everyone on his Meals on Wheels route. He said Mrs. Peabody loved you.”

Lio wasn’t used to hearing himself described as “sweet.” Foresight had had other words for him, “stubborn” and “ungrateful” being the top two. Lio was a little taken aback.

“He’s on lunch duty right now, I bet he’d be super-stoked if you joined us,” Varys said. “He’s making spaghetti.”

“How could I refuse,” Lio said.

“Awesome! Follow me!” Varys said.

***

Galo was manning the stove in the fire station kitchen, industriously stirring a gigantic pot of boiling pasta water. Lucia was sitting on the counter next to the stove. She had—yes, that was indeed an actual _rat_ on her shoulder, grooming itself.

Galo was wearing a skimpy apron and jeans. But he didn’t have a shirt on. Lio wasn’t sure what he should have expected at this point. Galo was flushed and glistening from the heat of the stove.

There were multiple health code violations happening here.

“Look who I found!” Varys said. Galo looked up and saw Lio. His face lit up.

“Lio!” he said excitedly.

“I invited him for lunch,” Varys said.

“That’s awesome!” Galo exclaimed. “I’m making spaghetti. I made the sauce and meatballs from scratch.”

“He’s been talking up this recipe all week,” Lucia drawled. “It better be good.”

It was delicious.

Lunch at Station 3 was a boisterous affair; the Burning Rescue crew matched Galo for energy, all talking over each other and stealing meatballs off each other’s plates. It was a little overwhelming, but Lio enjoyed their camaraderie with each other. He found himself glad that Galo had such a tight-knit team, though he tried not to examine the feeling too closely. Ignis was the only one who didn’t say much; he exuded authority from the head of the table even in the midst of chaos. Lio was very surprised when, after Lio had helped clear the table and washed some of the dishes with Lucia chattering in his ear, Ignis laid a large hand on his shoulder.

“I’m glad you could join us today,” he rumbled. “Let me walk you out.”

“Okay.” Lio knew when he was being dismissed. He said his goodbyes and let Ignis walk him out the front door of the station into the early afternoon sunlight. Ignis stopped there, his hand heavy on Lio’s shoulder.

There was a long pause. Lio started to get vaguely uncomfortable.

“Sir, was there something you…” he started.

“You treat that boy right,” Ignis interrupted.

Lio frowned. “Sir,” he said, “I think you’ve misunderstood. Galo and I aren’t…” Ignis let go of his shoulder and leaned down until his sunglasses were level with Lio’s eyes.

“You,” he said softly. “Treat. That. Boy. Right.”

Lio swallowed. “Yes, sir,” he said weakly.

“Good,” Ignis said, pulling back. “Off with you.”

Lio turned on his heel and walked quickly away into Ludinton, deeply unnerved.


	8. Dec. 8 - Eight Brunch Mimosas

“You have consigned me to hell,” Lio said to Meis and Gueira. Gueira choked on his mimosa.

“We drive three hours to take you to brunch and this is the thanks we get?” he sputtered.

“This place seemed cute,” Meis said, cutting up his over-medium eggs with his knife and fork. “We just wanted you to have a peaceful getaway, boss.”

The old college nickname made affection flutter in Lio’s heart.

“It’s a Christmas nightmare,” Lio said severely, not letting the affection get the better of him. “It’s a tourist trap. It’s commercial and mercenary.”

“You used to enjoy the holidays,” said Meis. “Remember when we would build snowmen outside the freshman dorms?”

“Yours could not be described as a ‘snowman,’” Lio said. “As I recall, you always built a giant cock and balls in the dead of night.”

“It was my signature,” Meis said, unperturbed. 

Gueira glowered into his coffee. “We just wanted you to get back into the Christmas spirit, boss,” he said. “The _real_ Christmas spirit, not whatever Foresight was doing with his stuffy cocktail parties and white fake tree with all-white ornaments.”

“I always thought that tree was creepy,” Meis said, tucking his long hair behind an ear.

Lio sighed. “Let’s not talk about Foresight,” he said. “We were discussing your poor judgement in sending me off for a holiday vacation into the heart of darkness.”

“C’mon,” Gueira said. “You haven’t come storming back to Detroit yet, so there must be _something_ you like about it.”

Lio examined his omelette. 

“It’s very community-minded,” he admitted. “People seem to care about each other here. I suppose it’s got that small-town charm. But it’s _such_ a small town, I can already feel the claustrophobia setting in. I can’t seem to escape from this one shirtless firefighter.”

Gueira choked on his mimosa again and started coughing. Meis patted him on the back. When Gueira regained his breath, he said, “Boss, you gotta elaborate on that a little.”

Lio scowled. “Everywhere I go,” he said, “he’s there. His name is Galo. He’s the newest recruit at Burning Rescue Station 3, which is the Ludinton fire department. He’s incredibly handsome. He’s very into giving back to the community. And he never. Wears. A goddamn. _Shirt.”_ Lio stabbed his omelette vengefully with his fork.

“Hm,” Meis said thoughtfully, buttering his biscuit. “Sounds like you should hit it.”

“As usual,” Lio said, “I am humbled by your sagacity.”

Meis shrugged. “You deserve some happiness, is all,” he said.

Lio didn’t know how to respond to that. He looked around for another topic of conversation and glanced out the window. He’d noticed that the sidewalk outside had been getting more crowded over the course of the morning. Looking again, he noted that both sides of the street were now lined with a row of people. It was beginning to tip over from odd to concerning.

“What on earth,” Lio said, “is happening outside.” Meis looked out the window curiously. 

“Huh,” he said. “Not the faintest.”

The waitress came over to refill their coffee.

“What’s going on out there?” Lio asked her, nodding his head at the small crowd outside the window.

“Oh, didn’t you know? It’s the first round of holiday parades today.”

“Oh,” Lio said. “Of course it is.”

“You‘ve got a good seat for it,” the waitress said. “You should have a real nice view.”

“Great,” Lio said. Sure enough, he was beginning to hear the faint sounds of approaching marching band music. The waitress smiled.

“Here they come now!” she said cheerfully. “Y’all enjoy the show. Can I get you anything else?”

“I’ll have a cinnamon bun, please,” Meis said.

“Good choice, hun, we make them from scratch. I’ll bring it right out.” The waitress took her coffee pot over to the next table. The marching band music was getting louder. Lio peered out the window to get a sense of the magnitude of his approaching doom; the front of the parade had just reached the end of the block.

Leading the parade was a bright red fire truck with a large 3 emblazoned on the side. Lio knew it well. He fought the urge to slide under the table as the truck crept down the block and fully into his field of view.

Remi was driving the truck; the rest of Burning Rescue was standing on the back. They all had on variations of a Santa outfit, red with white faux-fur trim. Lucia’s had a cape. Aina’s was sleeveless. Varys had gone for the full pants-and-jacket combo, complete with a fake beard. Ignis had a bow tie for an accent piece.

Galo’s outfit consisted of a Santa hat, puffy red pants trimmed with white at the bottom, black suspenders, and the complete absence of a shirt. 

The truck drove slowly down the avenue, creeping past the window of the restaurant at a snail’s pace. The firefighters waved cheerfully to the small crowd.

“Would ya look at that,” Meis said laconically.

Galo saw Lio through the window. He lit up and waved wildly. Lio tentatively raised a hand and waved back.

“Holy shit, is that _him?”_ Gueira said, sounding awestruck.

“Yes,” Lio admitted reluctantly.

There was a pause while they watched the truck slowly turn the corner at the light. Galo waved at them until he was out of sight. The truck was flanked by the marching band, which was of dubious quality but impressive enthusiasm. The following floats were more sedate.

“Boss,” Gueira said once they could hear themselves think again, “you should _definitely_ hit it.”

“I’m not having some sort of stupid rebound fling in Ludinton, Michigan,” Lio said, rolling his eyes.

“C’mon,” Gueira said. “If I wasn’t married, _I’d_ hit it.”

Meis raised an eyebrow. “I’d hit it _with_ you,” he said. “If all parties were into that.”

“Hell yeah,” Gueira said seriously. He held out a fist, and Meis fist-bumped him.

“I hate you both,” Lio said.

***

Meis and Gueira took over the fold-out couch in the Airbnb, squabbling over who got the window side. They were staying a few nights for “moral support.” Lio didn’t want to think about how glad he was to have them there; “boy’s weekends” had been _verboten_ under the Foresight regime. They stayed up late, eating chips out of the bag in their pajamas and showing each other ridiculous cat videos on their phones. Lio eventually dozed off on the floor and had to be woken up by Gueira and chivied into bed. He drowsily snuggled into his duvet and drifted off again, lulled to sleep by the low voices of his friends in the next room. It was the best he’d slept in a while.


	9. Dec. 9 - Nine Dance Routines

When Meis and Gueira came back from their morning walk with a bag of pastries, they were clearly up to something, smirking at each other over their coffees at the kitchen table.

“Okay, what’s with you two?” Lio finally asked. Meis grinned at him.

“Boss,” he said, “we have a surprise for you.”

“We’re taking you out tonight,” Gueira said. “To a show. We saw a poster on our walk and got tickets online immediately.”

“A show?” Lio said dubiously. He knew what Ludinton had to offer in terms of _shows;_ he was going to be having war flashbacks to Remi’s poetry for _years._ “What kind of show?” Lio asked, deeply suspicious.

“That’s part of the surprise! All you need to know is, it’s a charity thing! You like those, right? All the money raised from the show is going to renovate the Old Town Theater so they don’t have to tear it down.”

“That theater is a cultural touchstone for the community,” Meis drawled. “Sure would hate to see it go under.”

“Let us take you out,” Gueira said. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

Lio wasn’t so certain of that. It clearly showed on his face, because Gueira gave him big puppy-dog eyes.

“Have we ever steered you wrong?” Gueira said.

“You set my dorm room on fire,” Lio reminded him.

“You were the one,” Gueira pointed out, “who got high and wanted to see if Cheeto cheese was ‘melty.’ We were trying to help.”

Gueira had a point.

“Okay,” Lio said. “You can take me to this ‘show.’”

*** 

The Old Town Theater really was a beautiful building. Lio certainly hoped the show would raise enough money to pay for the renovations. And judging by the size of the crowd gathered outside, they were going to be well on their way. Lio was surprised. What kind of show would attract such a crowd? Looking for some clue, Lio squinted at the marquee. 

“The Pants-Off Dance-Off!” proclaimed the marquee. “A Charity Fundraiser (18+ Only)!” Lio took in this new information for a long moment.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Lio said darkly, gesturing at the marquee.

Gueira started snickering. Meis remained straight-faced. “What do you think it means?” Meis asked innocently.

“You’ve brought me to a burlesque show.”

 _“Neo-_ burlesque,” Meis corrected primly. “A body-positive modern reinterpretation of a very sexy tradition.”

“Yeah, you can finally let loose now that you ditched that big tightass,” Gueira said, still snickering. 

Lio was glancingly familiar with the Detroit burlesque scene—Meis and Gueira were into it, though Foresight had made it very clear that burlesque was vulgar and Lio was not to go with his friends to any of _those_ events.

Thinking about Foresight and the shackles he’d put on Lio’s life for so long made a surge of righteous indignation flair through Lio’s body.

“Great,” Lio said. “Amazing. A burlesque show is just what I need. Let’s do this.” And he threw open the door of the theater, and strode, head high, into the lobby.

***

Lio was actually rather impressed by the production values of the acts. Small troupes and individual performers had travelled from all over the state to lend their talents to the cause, and some of them were _extremely_ creative with their use of glitter. Judging from Meis and Gueira’s reactions, this was on par with some of the shows they’d seen in the city. It was really quite fun; Lio hadn’t expected such complex and fantastic costumes or such creative music choices. Though most of the performers were ladies and thus not exactly Lio’s type, he had to say he could appreciate the artistry of the medium. 

The audience was enthusiastic, complete with a bachelorette party in the back who had brought in their own noise-makers and screamed drunkenly at every bump and grind. The MC, a robust woman with a costume change for every act, did everything she could to encourage them, working the audience into a tizzy for every performance. By the end of the night, Lio was pleasantly buzzed on gin and tonics from the theater bar.

“Alright, everyone, you’ve been a great audience, but I’m sad to say we’ve almost reached the end of our show!” the MC announced, sweeping out from the wings as the stage kittens picked up discarded sequined bras and feather boas from the penultimate act. The crowd booed. “Don’t be sad, darlings!” she consoled them. “We’re going to end on a high note. This last act is a veeeeeeeery special one, created just for the occasion by a local troupe that came together to save our stage! This is it, folks… The moment you’ve aaaaaaaall been waiting for… Put your hands together for our very own hometown heroes… the Firehooooooooouse Fantasiiiiiiiiiies!” She swept back offstage as the lights dimmed. Lio started to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. He elbowed Gueira. “Did she say… Firehouse?” Gueira furrowed his brow. 

“Yeah,” he said. “But no way it’s gonna be…”

The stage lights slowly started to rise back up. There were four people on stage, posed dramatically with their backs to the audience, their glittery gold-and-red costumes emblazoned with the Station 3 logo. 

Lio recognized Remi’s wiry figure first. Aina was next to him in the front. Behind Aina was Varys. And behind Remi, stage left...

It was Galo. Of _course_ it was Galo. The rowdy crew of bachelorettes in the back started shrieking.

“Oh shit! It _is_ him!” Gueira cackled exuberantly.

“I am going to die,” Lio whispered to Gueira through gritted teeth. He was drowned out by the first chords of Elvis Presley’s classic hit song “Burning Love.”

The next six minutes were simultaneously the best and the worst six minutes of Lio’s life.

***

“That was _aw_ _esome_ ,” Gueira said with satisfaction in the parking lot. “The synchronized assel-twirling was a nice touch.”

Lio was still trying to recover from the things he had just witnessed. He wasn’t actually sure how they’d ended up in the parking lot. He didn’t remember leaving the theater. He leaned limply against Gueira’s car.

“What’d ya think of your first burlesque show, boss?” Gueira said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I…” Lio was about to tell Gueira _exactly_ what he could do with his smug, shit-eating grin when the back door of the theater opened, spilling a small gaggle of laughing, chattering people out into the night.

It was the Burning Rescue crew. Or maybe more accurately in this instance, the Firehouse Fantasies. They were walking out into the parking lot in street clothes, chatting, holding bags that presumably contained their costumes. Lio’s heart dropped into his Fendi ankle-boots.

“Hide me,” Lio said.

Gueira, in a stunning betrayal of their years-long friendship, yelled, “Nice work, y’all!” and waved at the crew across the parking lot. All four of them waved back. Then Galo saw Lio.

“Oh! Lio!” Galo fumbled the bag he was carrying for a second, just barely avoiding dropping it in the snow.

Lio straightened his back. He was going to face his imminent demise from embarrassment with dignity. And he was going to make sure to take Meis and Gueira down with him.

“Hello, Galo,” he said.

Galo trotted over to them. “Hi!” he said when he was closer. “I didn’t know you were coming to this! I mean, I thought about inviting you, but then I thought we should probably get to know each other a little better first...” Galo looked only moderately embarrassed, which said something either about his constitution or his sense of propriety.

“I didn’t know I was coming to this, either,” Lio said darkly. He jerked a thumb at Meis and Gueira, who were grinning like hyenas. _“These two_ surprised me with a ticket.”

“Are these your friends from Detroit? Meis and Gueira?”

“That’s us,” Meis said. “You must be Galo. I didn’t know you were gonna be in this show, but Lio _did_ tell us you do a lot of charity stuff. That’s really cool of you.” He sounded completely normal, like he hadn’t just seen Galo in a tiny, bedazzled thong with tassels affixed to his asscheeks. Maybe Lio would let Meis live.

“Nice to meet you guys, Lio’s told me about you, too!” Galo said. “I saw you all at The Delectable Egg yesterday. Did you try the cinnamon buns? They make them from scratch.”

“Yes, they were high-quality buns,” Meis said.

Nope, Meis also had to die. 

“WELL!” Lio said loudly. “You two have a long drive tomorrow! We should probably get back to the Airbnb so you can rest up!”

“It’s not that lon…”

“Goodnight!” Lio said firmly, pulling open the back door of Gueira’s car and climbing in.

“Welp, I guess we’re leaving!” Gueira said cheerfully. “It was great meeting you, Galo! Nice work on the act!”

“Thanks!” Galo said. “It was a group effort.”

“That it was,” Meis said, opening the passenger-side door and getting in. Gueira finally came around to the driver’s side, waving goodbye to Galo as Galo started crunching through the parking lot snow to rejoin the rest of Burning Rescue, waving back at Gueira over his shoulder.

Gueira got in and started the car. Lio pulled his phone out of his pocket.

“Siri,” he said loudly into the device, “Google ‘how to get away with murdering two people in their sleep.’”

***

Siri didn’t have any suggestions that seemed feasible. Instead of killing Meis and Gueira, Lio went online while they were asleep and donated a hundred dollars under each of their names to the Old Town Theater renovation fund.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [QuillHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillHeart) for naming the Firehouse Fantasies!


	10. Dec. 10 - Ten Strings of Lights

The Airbnb seemed very empty in the morning after Meis and Gueira headed out. For want of anything better to do with himself, Lio took himself to the craft museum to see the Shaker quilts.

The museum was inside an elegant old house, one of the Queen Anne-style buildings Lio hadn’t made it to on his self-guided tour, since he’d been waylaid by Galo and kittens. Lio presented himself at the desk and paid the nominal fee.

“You’ve come at a good time,” said the lady behind the desk. “We really do it up for the holidays.”

“I’m not surprised,” Lio said.

“There’s a Christmas tree in every room,” she said cheerfully. “They’re decorated according to different themes. I particularly like the all-white one, myself. It’s very elegant.”

“Hm,” Lio said noncommittally. “I look forward to seeing them.”

“Enjoy yourself!” she said.

“I will certainly try,” Lio said.

***

Lio didn’t know much about Shaker quilts; it was, as Galo had intuited, not really his scene. But he found their simplicity satisfying. The Christmas trees didn’t do much for him, though. He was glaring at the all-white one in the last room when heavy footsteps approached in the hallway outside. Lio turned to see who else was partaking in what Ludinton had to offer in the way of art.

Lio was almost unsurprised when it turned out to be Galo.

He was wearing firefighting pants and his trademark white t-shirt. He had a clipboard in his hand.

“Oh!” he said, seeing Lio. “Hi!” 

“Let me guess,” Lio said. “More fire inspections.”

“How did you know?” Galo said, smiling at him. “The ladies who run this place are kind of concerned about their fuse box. Breakers keep going out. I’m giving it a walk-through. I guess you decided to check out the quilts after all?”

“I did,” Lio said. “They’re meditative.”

“Like… queen-size?” Galo asked, puzzled. “That’s a good size, I guess.”

“No, they’re… you know what, never mind.”

“Did Meis and Gueira head back to Detroit?” Galo asked.

“They did. I saw them off this morning.”

“Aw, I wanted to hang with them some more,” Galo said. “They seemed fun.”

“They are _not_ ,” Lio said. “They are awful and I hate them.”

“So… your best friends?” Galo said, smiling.

Lio sighed.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I trust them with my life.”

“It’s good to have friends you can count on,” Galo said. “I feel like that about Burning Rescue.”

Lio was touched. “Do you…”

“Hang on,” Galo interrupted, holding up a hand. Lio cut himself off, confused.

Galo raised his head, sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

“Do you smell something burning?” he asked.

Lio inhaled. He furrowed his brow. “I think I actually do,” he said, concerned.

“Mrs. Donaldson!” Galo bellowed. “Get the fire extinguisher!” Then he dropped the clipboard and dashed off down the hall. Lio ran after him.

“It’s over here!” Galo yelled from one of the rooms. When Lio skidded into the room, Galo was pulling a Christmas tree out from the wall by its skirting. Behind it, a tangle of electrical wires glittered with sparks and tiny flames. Galo pulled the main plug from the wall. The lights on the tree went out, but the flames continued to flicker. Lio lurched forward to see if he could help, uncertain. Galo threw up a hand.

“Stand back, I’m a professional!” Galo yelled. Then, without hesitation, he whipped his t-shirt off over his head and smothered the flames with it.

“I’ve got it!” The lady from the desk burst into the room, holding a fire extinguisher. She took in the scene; Galo, shirtless, the tree pulled out from the wall, the sharp smell of smoke and burned plastic in the air.

“Oh dear,” she said.

“Ma’am,” Galo said, “I’m afraid you do have a problem with your wiring.”

***

“I think there were too many Christmas lights plugged into this extension cord,” Galo said to Ignis. Ignis looked critically at the melted cord in question. 

“Do you want another cup of hot chocolate?” Mrs. Donaldson said apologetically to Lio.

“No, thank you,” he said. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“You’re very kind,” Mrs. Donaldson said, “but I don’t think so at the moment.” Galo peered over at them.

“Yeah,” he said to Lio, “you don’t have to hang around. We’re going to have to do a lot of boring paperwork and get the electrician out here. You might as well head. I’ll see you later, yeah?” He was still shirtless, as his t-shirt now had a large charred hole in the center.

Lio put the mug down and nodded at Mrs. Donaldson. “Okay,” he said, oddly reluctant. “I’ll head out. Good luck with everything.”

“No worries,” Galo said. Lio turned to leave.

“Hey,” Galo called. Lio turned back. Galo was smiling at him. “Thanks for being ready to jump in,” he said. “You’d make a good firefighter.”

Lio snorted. “I sincerely doubt it,” he said, but he felt oddly warm. 

On his way out, he slipped all the money in his wallet—three twenty-dollar bills—into the donation box.


	11. Dec. 11 - Eleven HIIT Workouts

Lio didn’t do much the next day; he finally found the local book store and impulse-purchased a book called _The Winter Rose_ that reminded him of Mrs. Peabody. He spent the rest of the day engrossed in it. It was getting late when he pulled himself away and decided to walk around the town green, Christmas tree and all. He thought the lights might look nice in the evening. His time in Ludinton was drawing to a close soon; he might as well try to soak up the ambiance.

The tree was at least 60 feet tall; Lio walked around the base, skirting the fence around the tree, and thought to himself, grudgingly, that it was rather pretty after all.

A flurry of movement caught his eye as he rounded the tree.

Galo was doing lunges in the middle of the green.

They were impressively athletic lunges. Galo was wearing a pair of purple and teal leggings that matched his sneakers. His thighs flexed in the tight nylon. True to form, he didn’t have a shirt on. Lio froze.

Galo spotted him. He stopped mid-lunge and broke out in a grin. “Hey Lio!” he called, and started jogging toward him. As he got closer, Lio could see that his torso was streaked with glistening rivulets of sweat, despite the cold. His chest was flushed and heaving; he was breathing hard, his breath fogging the air. He bounced to a halt in front of Lio and pushed his sweaty hair back out of his eyes, the muscles in his arms bulging.

“Nice evening for a walk!” he said.

“Galo,” Lio snapped, reaching his limit at last, “this is getting absolutely ridiculous.”

“What is?” Galo said.

“You cannot,” Lio said, “be serious. You’re out here shirtless? In this weather? Are you trying to catch pneumonia?”

“I’m doing my HIIT workout. I run hot,” Galo said, brow furrowing. He looked puzzled.

“Are you trying to kill me?”

“What do you mean?” Galo said, but Lio was starting to suspect him of purposefully obfuscating; he looked a little shifty-eyed.

“Not a day has gone by in this godforsaken town that I haven’t seen you without a shirt,” Lio growled.

“Is that bad?” Galo said. He didn’t seem at all repentant.

“Galo,” Lio said, “you _must_ know the effect you have on people. Coffees get dropped. Octogenarians swoon. Bachelorettes lose their minds. I’m not immune. It has to stop, or I am going to _snap_.”

“Oh yeah?” Galo said. He looked more intrigued by that possibility than he had any right to be.

“Galo,” Lio said, “I’m a fragile divorcée. Please stop flaunting your Adonis-like figure to the entire world at every opportunity, my heart can’t take it anymore.”

“Lio,” Galo said seriously, “I didn’t know it was bothering you so much. Let me make it up to you. I cook a mean chicken cacciatore. Come to my house at seven tomorrow and I’ll treat you to the best dinner in town.”

“Your _house_ ,” Lio said.

“Where else would I make a chicken cacciatore?” Galo asked. He looked puzzled.

“Galo,” Lio said, very slowly, “are you asking me out?”

Galo looked even more puzzled. “We’ve been going on dates for like a week?” he said.

“Excuse me?” Lio said.

“I thought they were really good dates?” Galo said. “Even the unplanned ones. There were kittens?”

Lio felt like he might spontaneously combust.

“You never said,” he gritted out, “that those were _dates.”_

Galo was starting to look concerned. “I asked you out for coffee? I wrote you a poem?”

“Galo, you id…” Lio started angrily. Then he paused as Galo’s words sank in. He felt an unaccustomed flutter under his ribs.

_Lighting up the night sky of my heart like the aurora borealis._

“That poem was about _me?”_ he asked, disbelieving.

“Uh,” Galo said. “Yeah? I guess that didn’t really come through, though. Shoot. Was the metaphor too vague? Remi says I need to work on clarity.”

“No one’s ever written me a poem before,” Lio said softly.

“Oh,” Galo said. He flushed. “Sorry I’m not a better poet,” he said bashfully. “You deserve to have a really good poem written about you.”

Lio opened and closed his mouth a few times, dumbstruck.

“So…” Galo said eventually. “I guess I misunderstood?” He looked hangdog. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to be dating. We can be friends! I like friends, too.”

“No, no,” Lio said decisively. “We’re dating.”

Galo’s face lit up.

“Yeah?” he said.

“This is going to be the most ill-advised small-town/big-city romance of my _life,”_ Lio said with relish. “I’m going to drive out here at least every other weekend. We’ll pine for each other over video calls when we’re apart. You’ll mail me hand-written letters full of original poetry. I’ll have you up to my Detroit apartment where we’ll drink wine and admire the city lights together. Eventually I’ll move to Ludinton and open a poorly-thought-out small business. Maybe a shop that sells scented candles. It will be _disastrous_.”

“Does that mean you’re coming over for chicken cacciatore?” Galo asked hopefully.

Lio reached up and grabbed the strap across Galo’s chest, pulling him down.

“Galo Thymos,” he growled, “I will see you for dinner tomorrow at seven. And you had _better_ be wearing a shirt.”

Galo grinned. He only looked slightly cowed. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“Good,” Lio said, and let him go. Then he turned on his heel and strode away. 

It was only when he had his back to Galo that he let himself smile stupidly.


	12. Dec. 12 - Twelve Condom Packets

Lio arrived at Galo’s house at exactly seven. It was half a duplex on the corner of Holly and 6th. Galo had texted him the address the night before. Lio rang the doorbell.

“Coming!” he heard Galo yell from inside, and a few seconds later the door swung open, revealing the man himself.

“Look, I’m fully clothed,” Galo said. He was wearing a plaid button-up shirt and black jeans. He looked delectable.

“Good. I brought a bottle of wine,” Lio said, holding up a moderately expensive Merlot; the fanciest one he’d been able to dig up at The Wine Cave. Galo grinned at him.

“Classy,” he said. “That’s really nice of you! C’mon in!” He ushered Lio into the house. It smelled delicious, like olives and roasted tomatoes. Galo took Lio’s coat and steered him into the combination kitchen and dining room.

“I’m just finishing up cooking,” he said, pulling Lio out a barstool at the kitchen island. “Dinner should be ready in five minutes.”

“Thank you, it smells wonderful. Can I offer you some wine?” Lio asked.

“Sure,” Galo said, “but I don’t have any wine glasses. I usually just drink Pabst.” He sounded regretful. “All I have is mugs.”

“Then,” Lio said with dignity, “we shall both drink wine from a mug.”

“Cool,” Galo said. “I’ll get a couple out.” 

*** 

The chicken cacciatore was absolutely delicious. There was salad to go with it, and a loaf of bread from On a Knead-to-Know Basis, the local bakery. Lio couldn’t remember a better meal. One mug of wine in, plate cleaned, Lio broached the question that had been plaguing him since the previous evening.

“Galo, I have to ask,” he said. “This whole time. Have you been _purposefully_ putting yourself in my way shirtless?”

“Uh.” Galo looked shifty-eyed again. “Sort of? Like. I didn’t know you were going to be at the laundromat. But I kind of put the shirt I was wearing into the wash just in case? And I don’t usually take my shirt off when I read poetry. I just did that because you were there.”

“Why did you think it nessecary,” Lio asked wearily, “to torture me with your physique? Why couldn’t you simply _flirt_ like a normal person?”

“Well, some of that stuff, you know, just happened. Like the coffee. And the kittens. And the electrical fire. And Mrs. Peabody, I know what _she’s_ up to, I figure why not let her have some fun. But some of it was… well.”

“Well _what?”_ Lio said severely.

Galo rubbed the back of his neck.

“I thought you were really cute when I first saw you at the Polar Plunge. You seemed interested then, so I was… uh. Trying to _keep_ you interested?”

This infuriating idiot was going to drive Lio completely out of his mind.

“Galo Thymos,” Lio announced, setting his mug of wine down on the table, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Oh!” Galo said happily. “Okay!”

***

They kissed at the dining room table for a while. Lio ended up in Galo’s lap, Galo’s hands warm on his back. Then they moved to the couch, stumbling through the living room and collapsing onto it in a heap. They kissed with Lio lying on Galo’s chest, then side-by-side with their hands in each other’s hair, then sitting up with Lio in Galo’s lap again. Lio thought every permutation was better than the last. He thought he could test out new kissing positions forever.

But he also thought he could do other things.

“Galo,” he said breathlessly, coming up for air, “I’d really like to take this to the bedroom, if that’s something you want to do.”

Galo was disheveled, hair in his face, lips red and swollen from kissing. He looked absolutely delighted with the situation he found himself in. He smiled broadly at Lio, big hands running gently up and down Lio’s sides.

“Lio,” he said, “I want to do whatever makes you feel good.”

Lio felt a surge of lust, and something else that he was going to deal with later.

“Galo,” he said, “tell me you have condoms and lube in this house.”

“I do!” Galo said, grinning happily. “I stocked up on the XLs last time the drugstore had them in.”

Lio furrowed his brow. “The… XLs,” he said dubiously.

“Yeah, you know,” Galo said nonchalantly. “The big ones.”

Lio feared his head might pop off like a champagne cork.

“Galo Thymos,” Lio growled, reaching out and grabbing Galo’s chin, “you are going to take me to bed right now and you are going to fuck me silly. I don’t want to be able to feel my legs tomorrow. Do you understand me? You better live up to the hype, _hometown hero._ ”

Galo’s eyes gleamed wickedly. His grin widened. “Challenge accepted, Lio Fotia,” he said.

It wasn’t long before Galo’s shirt was off again.

***

Galo brought Lio breakfast in bed the next morning, shirtless (of course), and Lio made a mental note to write Meis and Gueira a nice card thanking them for their inspired, life-changing gift of a winter vacation.

As soon as he could walk again.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on twitter [@SerotoninShift](https://twitter.com/serotoninshift)


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